


Twisted Little Happy

by pissedoffeskimo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 09:21:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1545686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pissedoffeskimo/pseuds/pissedoffeskimo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that he finally has Severus, nothing will stop Harry from keeping him. Nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in 2003, this was the first fanfic I ever wrote.

Harry’s POV

He’s all warm hands and heated breath, all fiery eyes and smouldering voice. All over my body, all butterfly kisses from my neck to my thighs and all over again, all the way back up, melting me into the sheets and making me cry out to deities I long since gave up on.

It takes restraint I never knew I possessed not to look at him now. Now that we’re in class, now that we’re surrounded by people, now when all I want is him. I try pretending to pay attention, to watch him talk to the class, list ingredients and dole out instructions, but whenever he looks at me or so much as breaths in my general direction, my face reflects the most debased needs and wants.

God, how I want him, I need him. I live for his feather light touches, and brutal play. Love it when he holds me down, pulls my hair, wants me on my knees, orders my body to do things I can’t rightly complain about. Even gentle he owns me; even kind he possesses me, every part of me; even cruel I plead to him, to take me, leave his mark of ownership.

I try not to show how cute I think it is when he finds ways to give me detention. Try not to laugh at my friends’ indignity at what they see as cruel punishment. Not that he doesn’t make it cruel. The touching and suggestions of what I can expect drive me wild all day. It’s not even hard to pretend I’m angry at him; I just have to recall that there are hours before he can keep all those promises.

It started innocent, it really did. I just wanted to see what he felt like. Just wanted to know if his hair was greasy, or in fact silky to the touch, easy to caress. It was. Just wanted to know what kissing him was like. Then everything changed so fast. Then I just wanted his hands on me, in me, him in me, around me, consuming me.

He must have nearly died trying to fend me off. It really was one for the records. Not that I’m an expert, but I find it amazing that he managed to throw me out into hall after I’d spent nearly an hour on his lap, mostly naked, grinding against him, begging him. He doesn’t hesitate now. He slams me on my back onto the floor, ravishes my body, shoves himself into me, makes up for every second he said no the first night I tried.

So glad I never gave up. So glad I went back again and again until he relented, until he couldn’t say no, until I’d more than debauched myself in front of him in the effort to prove I knew what I was asking.

It’s really only a matter of time, or so he says, until we’re caught. I am, after all, sixteen and patience has never been one of my virtues. I go to him almost every night, curl up against him and whimper until he makes me scream. I love the sounds he can make come from me.

Not that this is, in any way, just sex. We talk, well, I talk, he listens mostly. I never imagined he’d be very good at listening to me; always thought he’d be better at getting annoyed and kicking me out on my ass to shut me up. After a particularly bad nightmare, though, when I wanted nothing more than his arms around me, he made me talk about it.

Damn him for doing that, too, because once I had his ear I spilled more than just that nightmare. I told him everything that haunted me at night. I told him about my relatives, I told him about my friends, about how deeply I resented my fame. Not all in one night. No, he really might have kicked me out had I tried that.

I think he must know every little cursed secret I have. I still own one though; I haven’t told him how much I love him. I haven’t told him what drove me to him the first night, or what brought me back after his rather firm rebuttal. I won’t tell him those things.

How would I explain that one day I just felt comfortable around him? One day it wasn’t anger, it was content. I was content to let him badger me, I looked forward to it. It could have been words of praise for all I cared. I don’t even know why really, just that I changed and in my eyes he changed.

It can’t go on forever. I want it to, but I am his student, we were bound to be caught. When we’re called to headmaster’s office, I’m so sure. Mentally, I prepare myself to kick and scream if they try to take him away from me - my Sev, mine, no one could change that and I need him.

I’m really not prepared at all when they give me the letter mum had left. It’s so neat and crisp, it could have been written the day before. Trust Albus to keep something in such pristine condition. Trust him to have such grandeur timing.

I think I read it six or seven times before I hand it to Sev, letting him glance over the words, and over them, and over them. Letting them sink into him as they were trying to sink into me.

He’s my all, now is everything and all I have, and I want him and need him, no matter how cruel he can be, no matter if he’s achingly kind and I cry for him, I’m just so glad he’s mine. It would have been kinder to rip him away, tell me I just couldn’t have him, let me kick and scream, throw a fit, because this is worse.

I didn’t need to know he’s my father.

_______________________

 

I know what it looked like when I lunged for him. I just wanted him to hold me and tell me it was all right, but that wasn’t how it looked. They didn’t know, couldn’t know, I wouldn’t let them, it was wrong and suddenly, sitting outside the office with McGonagal standing next to me, unsure of what to say, of what I am thinking, I’m beginning to feel dirty.

Not unclean, or unworthy, just something so indescribable. Just dirty. Like I don’t know which I want and that makes it worse. I want a father, god, I’ve always wanted parents, someone to care and now, in the space of seconds, I have that. I have a father. But it isn’t enough. He’s been so much more than that for so long now, months. I can live without a father, can’t I? I can pretend nothing happened. But I’m not sure I want to. I want a father, I want family. But I want him. I can’t stop shaking. I’ll bet anything it looks like I’m murderously mad.

Ron’s there now, talking to the Professor, trying to figure out what’s wrong because I’m not responding to anyone, I’m just sitting there. Eventually, he sits next to me and pulls me against him. A brother, a friend, he may not know why he’s comforting me (or maybe he thinks he does), but I need it, anyway. I lean against him and try to stop the shaking.

He lets me sit there for a while, I’ve lost track of time, before standing me up and walking me away. At first, I’m not sure where we’re going and I don’t think I care. I need to not care. No, that’s not right, I need him, don’t I? Can’t, but do.

When we reach the dorms, I’m actually taken aback that we’re there. The others are somewhere else, maybe we passed them in the commons room, I wasn’t really paying attention. Ron sits me down on the bed, against the headboard and continues his comfort. I can’t help but be grateful. He’s not Sev, but he’s warm and he’s concerned.

I don’t remember falling asleep. Just Ron, just trying not to think. But I can’t stop thinking. I want Sev to comfort me, I want him to give me the answers. Not that he’s ever been very good at direct answers. I almost laugh at the memory of I don’t know how many times he tried to get me to think things through on my own. How many times I was so stubborn and bull headed and I would walk out because he wouldn’t say yes or no. I’d always come back, sometimes less than an hour after, stumbling over apologies.

This is so different, though. This isn’t some petty worry about Ron’s jealousy or Hermione’s little flirts. I can’t piece this together on my own. But I can’t go see him. Even if I had the strength and will power to move, I’m not sure he wants to see me, I’m not sure what will happen if I go there, and I can’t be sure they aren’t watching him.

Watching him isn’t the issue anymore though, is it? They’ll expect me to want to talk to him. It would be perfectly normal for me to try and visit him at odd hours now. He’s my father. But I can’t. I need to think, but I can’t do that either. I wish I could remember what I was thinking when I fell asleep.

__________________________

 

No one woke me up for class; I just kind of fumble into consciousness sometime around noon. Good. I’m really not up to it anyway. Ron comes in around lunch and tries to get me out of bed. I don't even bother saying anything, just ignore him till he goes away.

I don’t blame him, I can’t blame anyone. They don’t know. Well, Sev knows, but I’m not exactly going to burst into his class and ask what he thinks on the matter. That’s probably because I already know what he thinks and I don’t want to hear it. I know what’s right, and what I’m suppose to do and think about this, but that doesn’t change the fact that it is not that easy.

Shit, I’m moping. He hates it when I mope. I moped for days after every time he threw me out. I’d sit in class and pout and say things that, quite honestly, I should have been slapped for, just on the off chance he’d give me detention and I’d get another go at it.

He only gave me detention once, then he realized that’s what I'd wanted. I think he figured it when I started taking my clothes off. I can’t ever count the number of times I ended up half naked in front of a door in the dungeons. It really is a miracle no one noticed.

A blessed miracle, a mixed up miracle. There’s an annoying part of me now wishing someone had. Maybe they could have stopped it before all this happened. No, that’s not right, no one could have stopped it. I would have found a way down there eventually. It just would have taken longer.

I need a shower. Getting out of bed, I stumble into the bathing rooms and stand under the heated water. It helps with the not thinking. By the time I decide to get out my fingers are all pruney. He hates that too. There’s food on my bed and I’m not sure who brought it, but I put it on the floor, taking the glass of juice and swirling it around, deciding whether or not it looks good.

In the end, though. It really doesn’t matter what I think. I need to talk to him. Not now, of course. Once again the idea crosses my mind of what exactly it would look like if I barged into one of his class rooms demanding to know if we’re still going to be having sex. The idea is almost appealing. Just almost.

__________________________

Severus POV

 

"This is not good." That is probably the first conscious thought that came out my mouth after reading the letter, after Harry was dragged from the room. The unconscious thoughts are ones I am entirely unwilling to share with my coworkers. The more prominent of which includes curse words in various languages and an undertone of, ‘Damn, that was good sex, too.’ Definitely not sharing that one.

Albus is watching me intently. If the absence of that damned twinkle is anything to go by, he has at least some idea of what’s been going on. I stare back at him, trying to determine what he knows before speaking again. Unfortunately, in this matter he is far more patient than I am.

"Might I inquire what good this actually does?" He isn’t answering, he’s just staring with that damnable piercing gaze he reserves for really ‘special’ occasions. "Not as if he doesn’t have a big enough target on him already, you add this?" Not good, I’m sounding far too concerned. "When this gets out, and it will get out, Albus, I myself will also be a walking target. Hell, they might not even bother asking for my assistance, they’ll probably go straight into the torture to get at him." That is not coming off nearly as callous and single minded as I intend.

Albus still hasn’t said a word, he hasn’t stopped staring and I have half a mind to continue talking if it weren’t becoming increasingly obvious that he knows something he hasn’t shared yet. After a few seconds staring back I sit in the chair and wait for the bomb to drop. At least he doesn’t make me wait further. "Severus, you will tell me exactly how serious the two of you have gotten."

I could always play innocent. In fact, I open my mouth to do just that, but from his look I can tell he would not be amused. Closing it again, I sit back, "How long have you known? About this? About everything?"

He sighs in resignation, his worst fears all but confirmed, "Only recently, Severus. It came to my attention that he was lavishing his attentions towards you and I thought action would be prudent, however, by Harry’s outburst I surmise I was too late."

I stare at him for a little while longer, deciding what to say. I could lie, but he’ll know. "It’s been of a sexual nature for three months, since Christmas." The pause at this point is far too uncomfortable for me to enjoy, "Why does he look like James?" Oh, wonderful, my brain is making a social call!

Smiling sadly, Albus leans back himself, I suppose we must look rather relaxed. Like two men discussing business over tea, not the incidental, incestuous, debauchery of a sixteen-year-old boy. "Quite a few reasons, masking and altering charms, some potions, all set in motion before he was born."

"Are they..."

"Permanent? Yes. Lily had no intentions of you ever finding out. The note was precautionary, when she knew their lives were in danger."

I search around for my brain, hoping it will make another miraculous appearance, but it has gone back into shocked hibernation, trying dutifully not to deal with the information that I am sleeping with my biological son. ‘Sleeping with and enjoying.’ I tell it to shut up if it has nothing useful to add, but, to my disappointment, it does. This has to be first time I can not come up with something intelligent to say and I’m forced to take my own advice and keep my mouth shut.

He waits very patiently for me to sort through the information, until I look ready to handle further interrogation. "You’ll forgive me, Severus, if I ask you what you intend to do about this?"

My face reflects horror, as though the thoughts of past sex have not been crossing my mind like some kind of rabid beast since the whole inquisition began. "I intend to tell him it stops now."

His look is now one of sympathy rather than scrutiny, "That was not what I meant, Severus. I have the utmost faith that your moral standing is above continuing the affair. Do you intend to act as his father, or will you sign custody of him over to Sirius?"

God, the name alone makes me want to do something entirely too sophomoric to contemplate. "Sirius is a fugitive and in no way competent enough to handle himself, let alone a distraught teenager."

I really hate it when Albus can find such serious matters amusing. His eyes are twinkling again,. "Then, you’ll take responsibility?"

Tricky bastard! He really can be down right manipulative when he wants to be. "You’ll understand if I need a while to think this over? It’s a rather large decision to be making in the span of thirty minutes."

At his nod I stand up and make for the door, glad when he says nothing and allows me some dignity as I try my best to glide back to my chambers. It really is hard to walk with reverent grace when every aspect of your so-called world has just been ripped apart like some obtuse puzzle you have to put back together. I hate puzzles.

__________________________

 

I hate that boy. Three days and he has yet to come see me. Honestly, I had no illusions that he would show up the same night, but three days? I suppose if it were just that we haven’t talked about the situation I would stop at being mildly perturbed, but he’s taken to moping - in my class, with his head on the desk, allowing that Granger girl to do the work.

His friends have, as of so far as I can see, been entirely supportive, though that’s most likely because they do not know the entire situation. He also hasn’t been eating. I can only hope that those irresponsible friends of his have at least been getting juice down him, though somehow I doubt it.

I dismiss class and watch him walk out, Weasley at his side trying to look like a pillar of strength - a role for which I find him ill-suited, despite his height.

After spending the entire night going over the conversation with Albus, I have finally pinpointed what is bothering me most. He has not said anything about my having sexual relations with a student. At best, I can hope it’s pity and I’m not in the right mind to think about ‘at worst.’ Albus and ‘at worst’ are not kind companions. Despite the level headed persona he radiates the vast majority of the time, he can, when provoked, get angry.

Either way, it makes two conversations I can look forward to dealing with and only one I have any control over. Scratch that, I have control over neither and I think that bothers me more than the content of what needs to be said. Harry will decide when he is ready to see me and although I can approach Albus at any time, it is in his hands.

I contemplate my fate for the better part of the day, take to scotch when I get back to my rooms, and decide to skip dinner. It really is irksome to sit there and worry about the boy the entire time. At least alone I can try and forget exactly what it is causing his anxiety.

__________________________

Harry’s POV

 

Right, so I’m standing outside his door, and I’m supposed to knock, and... and say what? ‘Hi, dad?’ I can tell he’s mad at me, he stares at me in class when no one’s looking, I can feel it. I suppose it should make me uncomfortable, but all I can think about it that the desk I have my cheek pressed so firmly against is the same one he was pounding me into just a week before.

Then it’s get-rid-of-the-hard-on before class is dismissed and reminding myself that he is indeed my father does not seem to help. I hadn’t been planning on coming yet, I really didn’t think I was ready to hear him tell me to get lost, but he didn’t show up for dinner and that has me worried.

Looking at the door again I take a deep breath and knock. As the loud sound echoes down the hall, it occurs to me that I’ve never knocked before. At first, it was because he’d have slammed the door in my face, or I was trying to take him by surprise. Later I was just afraid it would make too much noise. It does. I mentally put it down on my list of things not to do.

When he doesn’t open the door right away, I’m afraid he’s either asleep or that he’s decided to start avoiding me. I’m half tempted to leave when the door finally opens.

At first glance, I can’t tell anything is wrong. He’s standing perfectly straight, his hair slightly in his face staring down at me with a fairly even gaze. After a few moments however, I begin to get suspicious. He usually brushes his hair behind his ears, or at least out of his eyes. Then I notice the slight tinge to his face. Not many would have noticed it, but I’ve spent hours studying those cheeks. His eyes, too, are slightly off focus. It all comes together when I see his hand firmly clenching the door, as though it were supporting him.

He’s drunk. Not just slightly buzzed as usual. No, this was full on plastered. Amazing that he can keep straight at all when he must have had at least half the whiskey bottle I can now see on the table by his chair. Just to be annoying, or perhaps because I can’t think of anything else to say, I decide to let him know of his situation, "You’re drunk."

For a moment, he says nothing, as though trying to come up with an answer. He probably is. I personally have yet to experience the sensation of absolute inebriation, but I’ve heard it dulls the mind. Sev with a dull mind, humorous as it is, is also slightly disturbing.

"And?"

That’s all he can come up with? 'And?' I open my mouth to say something, but he apparently realizes exactly how juvenile he sounded and cuts me off, "Do tell me what has brought you here at such a late hour."

It really is hard not to laugh, but the last thing I want is a drunk and angry Severus, so I hold it in. "Late? It’s barely ten."

He’s thinking really hard now. Oh, the fun I will have with this information later. "Then it’s barely time for you to be in bed." Long pause after that one, nearly thirty seconds. "Almost. It is almost time for you to be in bed."

I suppose what finally makes me laugh is that as absolutely horrid as his thought process is at the moment his speech is perfectly even; as husky and commanding as ever, as though nothing is wrong. Hearing those fumbled words from his mouth is... oh, god, it’s turning me on. Not now, not now.

I manage to shove my foot in the way as he tries to close the door, turning his back at the same time. I’ve only done that once before and it had hurt like hell. He doesn’t look strong, but he just about broke my foot. This time it bounces off harmlessly. Drunk must impair him more physically then I thought.

As he sits heavily in his chair I close the door behind me, standing in front of the lock as I turn it. He’s looking at the whiskey bottle, probably trying to decide whether to drink more, when it seems to dawn on him that I’m there, "I thought I slammed the door in your face, you insolent brat."

Help me, but I love it when he says things like that and, despite recent information, I am incredibly turned on. Drunk Sev, makes Harry very happy. I’m filing that one away too as I try to restrain part of myself that’s quickly taking on a mind of its own. "You did."

"Good." A chuckle escapes my throat before I can stop it and he looks at me, suspicious. He must think he’s losing his mind. "What are you doing here again?"

I walk over to him and sit on the floor at his feet, my legs bent behind me, looking up as innocently as I can manage, to try and cover for the obvious humor in my face, "You missed dinner, I was worried."

Looking down at me, I can only imagine what he’s thinking right now. If he wasn’t drunk I’d know what he was thinking, I’m not permitted to worry until I stop putting myself in stupid situations that nearly get me killed. Although, it really isn’t fair, because he includes Quidditch among those and I have no intentions of quitting just so I can freely express my concerns. That’s probably why he made that a rule.

"Hmmm."

I want to jump him; I want to straddle his lap and let him fuck me senseless in that chair. That must be the only place in his entire chambers we haven’t had rampant sex. He even broke half his quills bending me over the desk once. Those were interesting injuries to try and explain to Madam Pomfrey. But the chair has always been off limits.

Crawling slowly up into his lap, I can see his brain trying to figure out what I’m doing. He doesn’t actually say anything until I’m fully seated, my arms wrapped loosely around his neck, "Might I ask what you think you are doing?" I grind my hips down and his eyes widen slightly, "Do I need to remind you that I am your father and..."

I shut him up by grabbing the whiskey out of his hand and taking a swig, trying not to wrinkle my nose at the taste. I look back down at him, eyes blazing with lust, trying to come up with a half decent argument, "and I don’t care. Besides, it isn’t like we’ve never done it."

He grabs the whiskey from my hand and slams it on the table. "Mr. Potter, I will not further contribute to your delinquency by allowing you to drink at your age."

I’m quite impressed he got that out. "I love it when you call me that."

"We can’t do this."

I press myself into him, "I want it," then reach my hand to grasp his erection, "you want it."

He puts one arm around me, pulling me closer, while his other hand pulls mine away from his pants, "I am drunk."

"Oh, good, then you’ll have an excuse in the morning." My lips press against his, and for a moment he’s unresponsive, and I’m afraid he’ll come to his senses. Lucky me he doesn’t.

His hands slowly make their way up my back. I shiver as I feel them gripping at my shoulders, nails digging into the skin. I moan into his mouth and press harder, encouraging the rough treatment with a downward thrust of my hips. He stills for a moment and I’m afraid he’s realized what I’m doing, what we’re doing, however, the movement begins again almost instantly. He drags his nails slowly down my back and I let a little scream out into his mouth, refusing to come up for air as I feel him ripping through the fabric.

I’m not surprised in the least to feel my skin tear under his fingers. I long since learned I enjoyed pain, I more than enjoyed it, I love it, I live for it. No, what catches me off guard is the fact that he does not remove my shirt first. He’s always been careful of my clothes. It would be far too obvious if anyone saw them mangled and I had only a few that fit.

As he nears my trouser line he puts his hands back on my shoulders and I moan, wanting more - more pain, more of him. He grips the fabric at the collar and I feel a sharp and sudden tug followed by snapping as the shirt falls around my waist and elbows, only the last three button intact.

I pull back long enough to survey the damage, "Oh, well," then dive back in, going for his neck and sinking my teeth in where I know he’ll like it. When his hands begin groping at the waist of my pants I arch back far enough for him to undo them. Apparently, that would have taken too long. Another button goes flying, and from the sound of ripping fabric the zipper’s not going to be zipping anytime soon.

Screw all that, I like him like this, he’s never been so unrestrained. Must get him drunk more often. I’m so busy thinking about how good having my clothes literally ripped off feels that I don’t notice where his hands have gone till he’s yanking my head back my hair. For a moment I consider protesting, but his mouth latches onto one of my flat nipples and bites rather viciously, so I settle on a half scream half moan, arching into him and trying to grind my hips for friction at the same time.

Severus lets go of my hair and begins the arduous process of taking my pants off. After a few moments I lose patients all together. The longer it takes the more likely he is to think about it. I stand and pry them off along with my underwear. As I begin to undo the last buttons on my shirt, he grabs the front of it, yanking me back into his lap.

I grin into his mouth as we once again, engaged in more lip bruising kisses. My own hands find their way to his pants and I eagerly pull out his cock, moaning at the feel of the heated flesh in my fingers. Severus moans as well, though it quickly turns into a growl as he grips my hair once again, pushing me off his lap fluidly and leaning down to kiss me far more gently this time before pulling my head down into his lap. Opening my mouth eagerly, I let him guide my lips over his erection. Experience warns me that this will probably be my only chance to slick him up a bit. As soon as he seems fully satisfied that he’ll be able to at least enter me with minimal difficulty I am pulled back up and onto him.

He lets go of my hair, moving his hand to grip my neck and shove his tongue down my throat as he begins to push me down onto him, entering me slowly. It’s almost too slow, I’m caught between whimpering and moaning into his mouth as he inches in, fully seating me on his lap.

Despite my wiggling and half-hearted protesting, he holds me still. I would say he was allowing me to adjust, but I know better. He likes to watch me beg. I manage to pull back from his lips, breathing heavy as I lean over to his ear and lick it suggestively, "Hard."

Waiting only a moment longer, he puts both hands on my hips and guides me up again, painfully slow, before slamming down, delight glinting in his eyes as I let out a pleasured scream. He does it once more before I grip the chair above his head, staring at him intently, making sure he understands what I want, "Faster."

He picks up his pace and within minutes I’m sure the entire school can hear me. Not that I care. He grips my own stiffened member, pumping in time with his thrusts. Within moments I’m unable to hold back and my entire body drains as I shoot into his hand, feeling him simultaneously filling me.

Bonelessly laying against him, I feel his softening cock slip out and I moan into his neck at the lose. His chest stops heaving and I put my arms around his shoulders, content to stay like that. He weakly pushes at my hips, "Can’t stay."

"Can’t move." I counter and snuggle closer, feeling his resistance drain. Not that I am lying, I won’t be able move if Dumbledore, or worse Ron comes in, but that doesn’t matter really, because I’ve always wanted to stay the night and Sev makes a marvelous bed.

__________________________

Severus’ POV

 

Headache. Slight Nausea. Exceedingly fowl taste in my mouth. Oh yes, definitely a hang over. I am not very experienced in them. I have only been truly drunk once. It had been right after graduation and I had woken up the next morning with the last person I ever wanted to see again, let alone in my bed. Not that Black had been exactly thrilled either.

A sudden cramp in my back forces me to shift and a familiar weight makes itself known along with the slight groan of the same person waking up. My hand appears to be resting on a bare thigh and I take a deep breath, taking in the smell of Harry’s hair. I’ll never tell him, but he smells like fruit and candy. I could breath him forever.

And I remember. I can only assume the hangover is impeding my memory, as I can not fully recall how we ended up in my chair, naked, him asleep in my lap, arms wrapped loosely around me in his half woken state.

His face lights up when he sees I’m awake and he leans in for a kiss. I try to get up, but he is far too firmly planted around my hips, so I settle with glaring at him, ignoring the obvious physical proof that it is only serving to make the situation worse. "What are you doing here?"

"Sleeping."

He grins rather wickedly and leans in again before I manage to get a hand on his chest. "That is not what I meant. Harry, we can’t do this, it isn’t right, do you have any idea how people will see it?"

He has such a pleasant pout when he wants, "I don’t care what people think, Sev."

"Neither do the Malfoys." It has the right effect; his nose crunches up and he honestly looks as though he may hurl, "There, that blatant disgust I can see in your face is the same way people will feel about us."

Harry shakes his head firmly, that beautiful morning tousled hair he always manages to wake with, "Malfoy could be his father’s clone. We look nothing alike. Why is that, anyway?"

Another thing I may never tell him. His ignorance is rather attractive sometimes, cute even. "Many permanent spells and potions, Harry, most of which because your mother never thought we would need to know."

Laying his head on my shoulder, he sighs heavily. I can feel his bare chest pressing against mine, smooth skin, masculine nipples, taught from playing Quidditch. I absently let my hand fall back to his thigh and clench it, tracing the lean muscle line with my thumb. I think I’m beginning to become rather fond of the sport.

I can feel him pouting against my neck, breath slowly beginning to take its toll on my resolve. "Why did Dumbledore have to tell us, then? Not to be machove, but I could have done without knowing."

"Honestly, Harry, you know the meaning of the word machove?" He digs his nails into my back for a moment, rather than make any movement that might allow me to dislodge him from his perch. "He told us because he knows."

His bright green eyes are suddenly so clear, right in front of me, larger than they should be, shocked, and rightfully so, "He knows?" His voice cracks.

I can’t help but feel smug, "Yes, Harry, and he trusts me to put a stop to this." The child is an open book and I can read the hurt and denial in his face better than words, "You should go back to your room now."

He shakes his head and leans back, precariously balancing with his hands on my knees, looking rather guilty, "I can’t."

For a moment, I think of cursing him for his insolence, then the state of his would-be clothing takes its full force on me. What should have been his school shirt was ripped down the front and draped around his waist and elbows. His pants are not visible and I have to think for a moment; oh, yes, I believe I may have actually broken the zipper off rather than opening it.

I’m beginning to feel slightly guilty when it occurs to me that it is not completely my fault. I was entirely drunk, he was entirely aware of it, and even with my limited recollection it was rather hard removing his clothes both drunk and pinned to a chair. The chair, "Harry Potter, this is the chair!"

He bites his lip, trying to look guilty and failing miserably, "I was taking what I could get?"

"You were taking advantage of my drunken state to have sex in the chair simply because I said we could not." He does look guilty now. Good, this was my favorite damn chair, and as irrational as the thought is, and as backward the logic behind it, I did not want to have sex in it.

This time I succeed in dumping him off me. He lands on his ass on the floor, shirt falling attractively around him as he sits up, running a hand through his hair. Locating his pants I do a quick spell to fix the zipper, and begin trying to find buttons.

He doesn’t move the entire time I’m looking, under pillow cushions, under the chair. When I’ve located all but one I sit in front of him and spell them back onto the shirt, trying to ignore the indiscernible look in his eyes. When I’m done, I take his face in my hands and kiss his forehead, "We can’t do this. You need to get back now and later we will try to do something more... father and son, I suppose. I have a role I have to fit in, regardless of what I may want."

For a moment I think he’s going to cry. He grabs his pants and pulls them on, turning around to head out the door. Oh, bloody hell, there are open gashes in the back of his shirt. I start to call to him, to tell him to wait up, but when he turns around the look in his eyes catch my breath. I haven’t seen that look since before Christmas.

He isn’t giving up.

__________________________

 

As hard as it is, I am trying to remind myself that talking to Albus about summer arrangements is a good thing. A very good thing. Despite the fact that I may end up headfirst out the Astronomy Tower window. It was a week till summer holidays and Harry is continually asking me where he was staying.

Now that the truth of my being his father is out, he is desperate not to return to the Dursley’s. I hardly blame him, but it makes my situation that much worse. It isn’t as if I’m thrilled at the idea of him going anywhere near them either. I dread the thought, but there is very little else I can do. In the end it is up to Albus.

Harry, true to form, has not given up. No matter how hard I push him away, he always comes back, just like before, but I am far more easily won this time around. We’ve tried several father-son trips to various locations, all with Albus’ permission, but they tend to end with us either in various motels or back alleys doing things that are decidedly not what the old man intended. Not that I intended them either, but it appears that of all the people who could possibly find my weakness it had to be Harry, and of all the weaknesses I could develop, it had to be him. He’s like a drug, his smell, his feel, his eyes.

I can only assume Albus has no clue, or I’d already have taken that fateful leap. He has not questioned me on anything yet, but every time I see him he seems to be calculating something and I honestly fear it is how to make my death look like an accident.

As I step into the office I try not to look him in the eyes, but it’s becoming more difficult with each time, knowing full well that, no matter what I might say or intend, Harry will end up against a wall, or on all fours, or... not a good time to be thinking about positions.

Albus gestures for me to sit and I do, feeling more like a child than I have in years. "Severus, I have given a great deal of thought to the situation." He’s going to kill me, and I really can’t blame him, which does not help. "But before I tell you what I have decided, I want to know something. Why?"

I really should have knocked on wood for being so thankful he hadn’t asked me anything. And I really should have seen this coming. Worse yet, I can’t say as to whether I have an answer for him. If there is an answer, however, it would have to be... "His eyes."

He gives me a questioning look and I find myself explaining far more than I intend, "Not that they remind me of Lily. They do, but that wasn’t it. Gods, Albus, he’d been coming to me for months, a month, I’m not exactly sure. He was all but begging me; actually, he may have begged, I was just too busy throwing him out."

"Right around Christmas he came to me, same as before, snuck into my chambers, trying his best to bring my defenses down, and when nothing I did seemed to make a difference, I told him he was a child and that I could never be with a little child."

"He was hurt, turned around the leave, it was the first time he had left of his own volition. His shirt and pants were off and I noticed a large burn mark on his back and welted scars down his legs. So, I stopped him, asked him where they were from and all he’d say was ‘Vernon.’ When I turned him around to try and get a more honest answer, it was there. His eyes were so lonely, so hurt, and I couldn’t let him be that lonely, so I kissed him."

"We did nothing more that night other than kiss; I just wanted him to feel loved, part of something. I couldn’t comprehend how he could be alone with all his friends. It was weeks before he talked about the scars. Apparently his uncle had blamed the broken television on him and whipped him with the antenna when he was eight. Harry insists the man had been revolted by his own actions, never going that far again, sticking to occasionally smacking him, never leaving scars."

Albus stares for a moment. I really should feel some form of satisfaction having shocked him, but I’m far too numb at having said as much as I did. He sighs after a moment, "He will stay with you over the summer. However, Sirius Black will be living with you two as well, in the event you should be called by Voldemort."

I think I’d rather be thrown off the Astronomy Tower.

__________________________

Harry’s POV

 

It’s really not fair. I’ve been very patient, but he won’t tell me what the surprise is. He just twitches in a way that makes me think it’s something horrible and says ‘You will see.’ He’s told me we are staying at his house for summer vacation. It took a lot of self restraint not to squeal like some overzealous school girl. Well, less restraint, more redirection of my energies to activities far more pleasurable.

Ron hasn’t figured me out yet. He’s been trying non-stop and Hermione’s been helping. They sit there asking me question after question, trying to get some kind of answer that isn’t evasive. If it wasn’t so amusing I’d be annoyed. In fact, sometimes I like to give them half an answer, or the answer they don’t want just to see their reactions.

Within the second day of questioning, when I had a lot of homework to do and was considering getting annoyed, Ron asked who she was. I told myself not to say anything, but ‘who says it has to be a she’ came out before I could stop it. Hermione looked like she’d swallowed her tongue and Ron went several shades of pale. I think that was when I decided to be amused. So, I stuck my tongue out at them and went back to homework, ignoring them until they decided to leave me alone.

They took the possibility that I might be gay very well. Hermione stated she had her suspicions all along. I really don’t think she did, but it doesn’t hurt to let her think otherwise. So, they badgered me less, probably afraid to hear what I’d say if provoked.

All told, though, I was fairly relieved when we said goodbye for the summer. Mostly because, and this is something I feel rather ashamed of even as I delight over it, it means less people to sneak around getting into Sev’s chambers at night.

After the first drunken encounter his defenses have slowly been widdled away, and while at times it is hard to face the realization that I am becoming something of a male slut, it’s comforting to know that it’s all because I am an average teenage male with raging hormones and easy access to a very experienced lover. Not that this curbs his guilt. No, to make him feel better it takes nearly half an hour of coaxing. Somehow the argument that ‘he is a man with needs and access to an adorably sexy, hormone driven teen who just happened to be his son, but hey, at least he hadn’t known that when it started’ didn’t go over well at all. He actually kicked me out the night I tried that one.

The alcohol has become a perpetual joke. Whenever I suggest something he’s unlikely to do, I hand him the whiskey and ask if he wants any. I figured he’d eventually remove the bottle to keep from encouraging me, but it’s still there, refilled, untouched, and so much the more for my amusement.

My friends left nearly a week ago and I am getting rather bored. Not that I wasn’t used to entertaining myself at the Dursley’s, but thanks to the heavy work load they gave me there had not been many hours to fill. Severus had said, just after they left, that we’d be leaving after he finishes cleaning up and organizing and I was not to bother him until he did.

Until this afternoon I have done a rather good job of finding things to do until well into the evening. However, today is somehow turning out to be very different. I’ve already slept in, raided the kitchens twice, tried to get into the library, which has been locked for two days, explored a rather ominous looking corridor (that turned out to simply have a burnt out tourch), and tried to force myself to reread a book on Quidditch strategy. I am bored, and Sev is going to pay the price. It’s his fault I’m locked up in here anyway.

Stretching as I make my way down the hall, I stop to peak through a door I’ve never noticed before (probably one of those that appears out of nowhere once in a while), but the smell alone is worth leaving it alone for, so I continue to walk.

I enter his quarters soundlessly and shut the door behind me, listening for the sounds of his feet on the thinly covered stone. Nothing. Slipping into the bedroom, I lay across his familiar bed, curling into the sheets, placing my head on his pillow, and breathing in his scent, scantily intermingled with my own.

"Snape, stop this minute and answer my question!" Sirius? I stop breathing, torn between the fear that I might be discovered in Sev’s bed and the urge to leap from the room and latch myself around my godfather.

However, the calm, collected anger in my lover’s voice stops that urge in its tracks, "I suppose, ‘it just happened’ won’t satisfy your curiosity?"

"No." Sirius sounds ready to blow a gasket and I find myself borrowing further under the blankets and making sure all body parts remain invisible should the doors open. "What, did you two get drunk?"

"Hardly, waking up next to you was enough to put me off alcohol for a lifetime."

An indignant squeak escapes my lips, but they don’t seem to hear it. Sev, my Sev, had slept with Sirius? I am suddenly feeling very ill. "Well then, how, Snape? How the hell did you manage to knock Lily up when she was married to James?"

Oh, that is a good question. I’ve never really thought to ask that one. Maybe Sev was right, I am far too naive for my own good, far too trusting, and definitely far too stupid at the best of time. "It’s not like we planned it, Black, it just happened."

"Not good enough!"

"Fine! I can’t give you a good reason, because there is not one. We had not been friends in school, but we were pleasant enough to each other, despite her association with you four. I’m not sure how, but she found out I was a death eater and approached me, trying to convince me to turn to the side of light."

"I was quite young, barely twenty, I’d been marked since graduation, and I was very scared. I will assume it was sympathy, but only she knows for sure. It just happened. I’m not even sure what went through my mind. I knew I could not follow Him any longer and at the same time turning meant death. But for her, on her mere suggestion, I would sign my own death warrant. I did not love her, it had nothing to do with wanting to impress her, or be with her, that one time was a drastic mistake, with dire consequences. Now if you don’t mind, I’m very tired of explaining myself, as I seem to be doing a lot of it recently."

I slip from the covers and make my way soundlessly into the bathroom. I can hear Sirius following him into the bedroom now, demanding further explanation. I decide a save is in order. Placing a hand over my stomach, I step out, not having to feign feeling ill at the sight of them standing so close together, "Sirius?"

They both turn to me at the same time, Sev’s eyes narrow suspiciously, but Sirius simply rushes over and embraces me lightly, "What are you doing in here? Are you feeling all right? You don’t look so good."

He starts checking my forehead and I brush his hand aside. I do my best impression of the ‘good soldier’ smile and I can see the impressed look on Sev’s face in the background. It’s a good thing Sirius can’t see it. "I’m all right, it must have been something I ate. I came down to ask Se.. Snape for a potion or something to maybe make it feel better, but he wasn’t here and I didn’t want to be sick on his floor."

Sirius puts his arm around me, standing up and guiding me towards the door, "Come on, let’s see if Pomphrey can help, okay? And then we’ll get you back up to your room so I can help you pack. We’ll be leaving tonight."

I try to catch Severus’ eye as I’m lead from the room, but he seems to be very intent on something just over my head at the moment.

__________________________

Severus’ POV

 

It is hours later before we congregate in my quarters, portkey at the ready. Black has had a permanent scowl on his face since he walked in the room, I refuse to stop glaring until he straightens his own face, and Harry is standing very uncomfortably between the two of us, his head down.

It isn’t often that it occurs to me how small Harry actually is. He barely reaches five foot seven, while Black and I are over six feet. Over the past months I have grown accustomed to the difference between us, but having him sandwiched between two grown men, both of whom, and I hate to admit this about myself, are standing as straight and tall as possible in hopes that they will intimidate the other into looking away first, reminds me.

As the portkey takes hold, I hear Harry give a little gasp and force myself to ignore the impulse to latch onto some part of him, perhaps a hand. It is a rather annoying instinct I developed when he started talking about his past. As soon as I knew the things that made him uncomfortable I found myself going out of my way to keep them from him. I wonder sometimes if it’s that I care about him because he’s my lover, or because of some innate paternal instinct.

We land rather smoothly in the front foyer of Snape Manor. The Manor, much to my disgust, is quite large; four floors high and far more expansive than necessary. I’ve been told that in times past it was used to foster cousins and other families, to train them as warriors or some such nonsense. Now, it sits rather lonely with one man to keep it company. Correction, one man, a boy, and a should-be dog.

Sirius leans down to Harry, asking if he’s all right. I have yet another insane urge to throw him off and point out the no, Harry probably is not all right. But that might give away the fact that I care and considering the situation that might not be the best thing to do just now.

I wait for the two house elves to make an appearance. There were more when I was a child, but seeing as I live alone I could not bring myself to keep them all here. Other than dusting there really is nothing to do during the summer. They blink into the room, causing a jump and then relieved sigh from Harry, though he appears to be trying to hide his reaction. Sirius growls towards me, as though it were my fault.

"Tibby and Mimi will show you the way to your rooms. Dinner will be soon, they will assist you with that as well. Until then I will be downstairs and I do not expect to be disturbed."

In all truth, as I head away from them, I know it is more a request than anything. Should Harry get it in his mind that he wants to see me the fact that I have expressly told him to leave me alone will have no affect. And as for the mangy godfather, I have no doubt he will probably take my order as an invitation to disturb me - or something equally hideous.

Something feels incredible wrong when dinner comes around and neither of them have made a show. I expected Harry to at least peek in. But then I suppose Black has kept him well occupied. They have probably spent the evening searching the manor for anything that can be used against me. Not that Harry would intentionally make me angry, but he seems to have developed a pension for blackmail ever since the drinking episode. If he ever let that one drop I think I will die of shock.

By dinner I know something is up. Harry looks pale and his eyes keep darting in my direction as if I am a going to explode at any moment. Black keeps giving him knowing looks and sniggering under his breath. Honestly, I didn’t think people sniggered any more. It’s about as undignified as a guffaw and far less attractive. Not that Black was attractive to begin with.

__________________________

Harry’s POV

 

God, he’s going to kill me when he finds out. He won’t even care that I had nothing to do with it. Well, almost nothing, I only suggested it as a joke. But apparently, Sirius thought it was a rather impressive idea. I hadn’t been trying to be impressive. If I had it would be a lot easier to swallow my dinner.

We’d been searching the manor for over an hour, and the only thing I had gained was the knowledge of where to find some interesting baby picture. Not that they wouldn’t be useful, they were excellent blackmail material, but it was getting tedious, and Sirius’ suggestions were getting more and more radical. It wasn’t until he mentioned redecorating the front hall that I lost patience.

I really hadn’t meant it to be taken as a suggestion when I said, ‘oh, why don’t we just redecorate his clothes while we’re at it.’ His entire wardrobe, save what he was wearing, was now varying shades of pastel. Mostly pink. I was so dead. Not to mention, Sirius had gone ahead and done the front hall anyway. I am hoping Sev has nothing violently against Grifindor colors, because according to Sirius it isn’t set to wear off for two weeks and nothing but time will remove it. God, I hope he didn’t use the same spell of Sev’s clothes.

A loud clank makes me look up from my half touched plate and I see Sev leaving the room. I want to follow him, tell him I’m sorry- maybe get some before he finds the mess we made of his rather elaborate robes, because once he does he won’t let me within yards of his bedroom- but I can’t, because Sirius might get suspicious. Frowning I put my own utensil down as Sirius manages to stop laughing long enough to point out the obvious, "He doesn’t even know yet. Can you imagine the look on his face when he finds out?"

Trying not to imagine the look on my face when he announces exactly how little sex I’ll be getting, I frown weakly, "He’s going to curse me into next week and you, well he might just get it over with and kill you."

Sirius ruffles my hair affectionately, "Come on, snap out of it. If I didn’t know better I’d think you felt sorry for him."

I jerk my head away, suddenly not caring if it looks odd, "Well, maybe I do! It’s nice of him to let us stay here, he doesn’t have to. He could have just said no and sent me to the Dursleys. The least we can do is be pleasant, but the first thing you do is desecrate his entrance hall and every article of clothing he owns. At least you didn’t start looking for his underwear."

He gives a sheepish smile and I sit back down, hitting my head against the table to repress the nausea, "You touched his underwear."

"Only with my wand!" I can hear the defensive tone of his voice and something tells me that whatever happened between them involved a lot of touching. I really am going to be sick if I keep up this train of thought.

Standing up, I make for the exit. I need to see Sev, I need his calm collection, I do not need to imagine Sirius with his hands on my lover’s boxers. But I also don’t need Sirius following me. Looking back I give him my best weary smile, "I’m going to get some rest, I think I’m just cranky, you know, portkey and all. I’ll see you in the morning."

Not waiting for his answer, I slip out the door. By the time I make it to Sev’s chambers, I’m honestly dreading what he’ll say to me. He’s bound to have seen it by now. I decide to forgo knocking and simply slip in after checking the hall to make sure no one is watching.

"What are you doing here?"

With a childish squeak I jump around, hand instinctively behind my back, latching onto the door handle when it finds nothing useful in reach, "Jesus Christ! You scared the shite out of me!" Sev is sitting in a chair, no, not a chair, the chair, "Did you bring that thing with you?"

His face tells me he has no intentions of answering, but it also tells me that he has no idea of what we’d done to his robes. Good, I’ll tell him later, maybe he’ll be too worn out to curse me. At the very least it’ll give Sirius a head start. Besides, I still have a fascination with that damned chair, mostly because he keeps saying it will never happen again. Honestly, he’s an intelligent man, far more so than I will ever be, you’d think by now he would have figured out that the best way to get me to comply is not to tell me ‘no.’ I don’t respond well to ‘no.’ In fact, beyond proving it invalid, I don’t respond at all.

Slinking across the room, I swish my hips slightly and try and settle onto the arm of the chair, but he shoves me off. Settling instead on the floor beside him, I’m struck by the strange sense of deja vu, only this time it won’t be so easy. Pouting, I place my chin where my ass should be, "Come on, Sevvie..."

"Don’t call me that." He glares at me for a moment before turning back to his book, so I decide drastic measures are in order. If he gets into the book it’ll take hours to get him in the mood, it would be better if it was a potions manual, sometimes he gets kinky when reading potions manuals. I suddenly know what I’m getting him for Christmas.

Sitting up, I pull my t-shirt over my head and grin as I see his eyes shift towards me and stop moving, "No." He tries to look at the book again, but I reach my hand over the arm of the chair and place it high on his thigh. After a moment he sighs and places the text to the side, leaning his head back as I rub softly, "This is not a good idea. Sirius Black is under the same roof and you are his godson. He would gladly kill me for even looking in your general direction."

‘Oh, that was a weak one, Sev, you should know better. When has the thought of getting caught ever stopped me?’

Slipping around I start to get in his lap, but he’s still protesting, "Not in the goddamned chair, Harry. How many times do I have to tell you?"

I grin and reach for the whiskey bottle that is once again conveniently sitting on a table stand, "Want a drink?" He takes it away and I choose that moment to saddle in and press my body against his, "Come on, it wasn’t so bad, and besides, the chair has already been desecrated, what harm can one more time do?"

His defenses look like their wearing down, but I can’t be too sure, so I flick my hips at him, "It helps that I don’t fully remember the first time."

Slipping off his lap and between his legs, I catch his zipper with my teeth and slowly pull down, staring intently at his face and reading the lust written there, "Then it’s about time I give you something you will remember."

__________________________

Sirius' POV

 

Honestly, Harry should have stayed in his room. He doesn’t know the manor well enough to be skulking around it. I don’t even know it that well and I was forced to come here on various occasions as a small child.

He does have a point, though, it is rather pleasant of Snape to let us stay here. At least this way we get to spend some time together. Not nice, but pleasant. I’m actually feeling guilty about his clothes, well, mostly anyway, because it is still humorous and I fully intend to laugh every time I see him in fluffy blue or yellow.

Looking through another door, I sigh, fully exasperated. I just want to apologize. Then again, apologizing to Harry won’t make the boy any happier. No, I’ll have to apologize to Snape to make Harry happy. Wincing at the thought I give it a few turns in my head. Well, it can’t be all that bad. It will take a little swallowing of my pride, but I think I can manage, especially if it will make Harry happy.

I’ve just made it to the corridor that I’m sure Snape’s room is on, when an audible moan meets my ear and it occurs to me it’s rather familiar, though I can’t place it. I walk up to the door it’s coming from and press my ear to it, "God, yes." Oh, that’s right, that’s Snape. I try and close my mind off to the scenario involving how I know that sound.

But who the hell can he be with? There isn’t supposed to be anyone else here, just the three of us. Another moan penetrates the door, louder this time, "God, when did you get so good at this?" I hear a small chuckle that is definitely not Snape.

For a moment I’m outraged. How can he compromise our safety for cheap sex? Well, probably not cheap, he’ll most likely have had to pay good money. It isn’t so much for myself that I’m worried, but Harry. For God’s sake, what if it gets back to the death eaters? Half the reason this is a good idea is that they will never expect it.

I’m tempted to break in, but then it occurs to me that I can use this to my advantage. Why should I apologize for his robes when I can simply agree to keep my mouth shut about this instead? I’m sure Dumbledore had no intentions of Snape having partners in the manor with us here.

I turn around the walk away, a smirk on my lips, when Snape’s voice comes barreling through the door, as though caught off guard, "Oh, god, Harry!"

Harry? What? Is he having fantasies about my godson? That sick pervert, I have half a mind to go in there and..., "So, you like that. Want me to do it again?"

"Shut your mouth."

"Really?"

"You know what I mean."

"Hmmm."

That is Harry’s voice. My stomach clenches up and I very nearly hurl my dinner onto the hallway floor, but my concern outweighs my need to be sick. Without allowing for further thought, I slam open the door and survey the scene in front of me. Harry is sitting between the legs of a suddenly very pale potions master. By the audible pop I hear as his head comes up, I know very well what it is he’s getting good at.

For the moment I am honestly torn between anger at Harry for being in that position and anger at Snape for putting him there, but it doesn’t take long for my head to work out the details. "You sick, fuck, he is your student! He’s half your age! He’s your goddamned son!" By now I’ve managed to get across the room to them and grab Harry by the arm, "I swear to god, I am calling the Ministry and you are never going to see the light of day when they get done with you."

Harry looks horrified, but I force myself to ignore his face, shoving him out the door and looking back again, rage more than simply threatening to boil over, "Did you start this before you knew he was your son, or did knowing turn you on?" He opens his mouth, but I’m not sure if he can speak, he looks like a codfish. I would relish that any other time, any other situation, but I can’t get the mental image of Harry between his legs out of my head, "You know what, never mind."


	2. Epilogue

Severus' POV

 

And I graciously wait for the inevitable.

Well, not entirely, maybe if I’d been sure that said inevitable only included the Aurors and a stint in Azkaban. As it is said inevitable also encompasses the appearance of Albus Dumbledore at some point and I am at a loss as to how I intend to react. He’ll know if I lie and he has always taken Black’s word over mine. I’m as good as dead.

When the Aurors don’t come bursting through my bedroom doors within the first thirty minutes, I begin to feel unnerved. What could possible keep them from avenging the virtue of their pint-sized savior? I leave my bedchambers, waiting instead in a hard backed chair in the entryway, staring at the fireplace with growing dread. The longer it takes them to come through, the more certain I am that Albus will be the one to step out.

I could run, I’m not above cowardess, but he would catch me.

Another hour goes by and my back in beginning to ache. I move to the plushier chair in a corner and reluctantly open a book to continue my wait. I’m nearly half through it when the green flames come to life and a tall, dark Auror bursts through. He’s not tense, although his hand is on his wand.

My eyes flicker to the clock above his head. It’s been three hours since Black departed with Harry in tow. I close the book in my lap and the Auror’s eyes fix on me, almost as if he hadn’t seen me sitting there. If I hadn’t known the man personally, I might have believed that, but Kinglsey Shaklebolt rarely misses a target, even in a dark room.

He nods, "Snape, I need you to come with me to the Minister."

The inflection of his voice is not amiable, but then it isn’t the terse clip that I associate with a man knowing he deals with a criminal. Setting the book on the chair as I stand up, I run my hands down the front of my robes, aware that if I looked closely, I might find a strand of his dark hair, still clinging to the black fabric.

Shaklebolt throws a handful of Floo powder in the fire and calls "Ministry of Magic" before stepping aside. I stop short of hesitating. Something is not as it should be. I’ve never known the Ministry to take allegations of child abuse lightly. There should have been more than just one Auror, however competent he may be, and they should have arrived within minutes of being given the information, regardless of who the source was. It is also not common practice to allow suspects to travel via Floo. Too easy for them to step out early to evade punishment.

As it is, I have no intentions of evading anything. Besides, I’m likely safer from Dumbledore’s wrath at the Ministry than anywhere else. The ride is bumpy and one that I’m not keen on. There is something undignified about being flung from a fireplace.

The entrance hall to the Ministry is deserted when I step out, yet another oddity. Of course, it is closing in on eleven, but surely there would be a pack of rabid Aurors waiting to rip apar the debaucher of The-Boy-Who-Lived. I’m beginning to think they may not know.

Shaklebolt emerges shortly after myself. The lighting is better and I take another look at him. His eyes have dark circles under them and there’ s tear in his robes. I note what looks like crescent moon scratches on his hand and realize that they’re from finger nails. He sees what I’m staring at and smiles for the first time, though it’s more weary than amused. "This way."

I follow him through the halls and into the elevator. We go down several flights and come to a jerky stop. The moment I step out onto the floor, I’m accosted by something small and warm, something that flings itself on me and nearly topples me to the floor. I look down and immediately recognize the tousled hair of my lover, my son. His grip tightens and I put my arms hesitantly around him.

Shaklebolt watches with some interest as Harry shakes uncontrollably in my arms and I turn to him questioningly. He sighs, "Let take this somewhere private."

Others watch intently as I steer Harry with me and follow the Auror. The child never looks up, just breathes deep and uneven into my robes. Shaklebolt takes us to an interrogation room and closes the door after stepping in himself. I sit down on a little bench and Harry squeezes tighter, as if he’s afraid of my being taken away.

Looking at the other man in the room, I reluctantly feel my protective instincts kick in. "You will tell me what happened."

It isn’t a request, but he doesn’t appear to take offense. "About three hours ago, Black came through the floo, dragging the boy with him. It didn’t look... well, it appeared to those standing around at the time that young Mr. Potter didn’t want to be with him, Black was holding onto his arms, shaking him and Potter was trying to get loose, they were yelling back and forth, talking over each other. No one could really tell what they were fighting about. Minister Fudge was there, escorting two of the Dementors off to Azkaban and before anyone knew what was going on, they had already performed the kiss."  
I’m stunned. Harry gives a particularly violent shudder and I can tell from the dampness of my robes that he’s started crying again. I tighten my grip imperceptibly as Shaklebolt continues. "Potter went hysterical, he tried to attack the Dementor. It took three of us to hold him off long enough for it to leave. Once that thing had left, he latched on Black and we had to force a calming draft down him to get him away from the body."

The thought of someone forcing a potion down my Harry’s throat makes my chest tighten in anger. I put a hand under his chin, wanting to get a look at his eyes to ensure that it had been of proper quality and quantity, but he refuses to look up. Shaklebolt continues speaking, though he never takes his eyes off me.

"We got him up here and he started asking for you. That was hours ago. We contacted Dumbledore and he gave me the okay to retrieve you, whatever it took to calm the boy down, because the draft obviously isn’t wasn’t nearly as strong an effect as it should have. So, tell me, Snape, why did he ask for you?"

I hadn’t expected that. Should have, but didn’t. My concern for the boy must be clouding my judgment. I want to think that’s a bad thing. "I’ve no idea. Perhaps, because I’m his professor."

"But not his head of house and I’ve been told he has a familiarity with Dumbledore. Why you?"

I shrug, for only the third time in my entire life I’m unable to come up with a satisfactory reply. Shaklebolt deflates and stands. "Right, I’ll leave the two of you alone. The Headmaster should be arriving soon."

The moment that man is out of the room I give in to the maddening instinct to stroke my lover’s hair. I’ve never been the tender sort and I can’t say that I’m particularly soothing in this, but his convulsive breathing begins to even out and his fingers relax their grip on my robes. By the time one of the Auror’s comes in to take him away, saying the Albus is requesting to visit with him alone, the boy doesn’t object, just follows numbly.

I can try to fool myself into thinking that Harry will somehow be able to fool the Headmaster, worm his way around questions of why and how, but I know better. Albus will already know the truth. There are only so many reasons Sirius Black would risk going into the Ministry and only one of those involved him taking Harry with him. It wouldn’t take an accomplished Leglimens to decipher the clues, just someone with adequate brain power.

There’s no telling how long I sit there, but it feels like hours, minutes. When the door creaks open again and Dumbledore steps inside, I don’t even have to look up to know that he knows. I can feel the anger radiating off him in waves and it takes more all of my strength not to fold then and there.

Looking up at him, I see reflected in his face what I already knew. His eyes are blank, his features lax, as if he is controlling himself with a great deal of effort. He pulls up a chair across from me and sits down. "I’ve spoken with Harry."

He pauses and I feel the need to nod, to let him know that I’ve heard what he’s saying. When he doesn’t continue, I get impatient. If the man is going to kill me I wish he would simply get it over with. "And what has Harry said?"

"Not a great deal. He wishes me to believe that he and Sirius were having a fight over him having called you ‘‘dad.’"

I can actually follow the boy’s thought process, however flawed it may be. Sirius would have been spitting mad had Harry ever said ‘‘dad’ to me, but that alone would not have prompted the man to walk into his own death. "And what do you believe?"

Dumbledore smiles sadly and I’m slightly taken aback. I’ve only ever seen him truly enraged a handful of times and this did not look entirely the same. Oh, he wasn’t happy, he was upset, but he probably wasn’t going to kill me just yet. I would have been thankful, but I almost fear the wait more than the deed itself.

"I cannot claim to be omniscient to what goes on outside of my school, but I am well apprized of all that happens within it’s walls." I flinch. "When I first found out about the two of you, Severus, I won’t pretend I didn’t consider misplacing you." He says the word ‘‘misplace’ in a way that clearly states ‘‘killed in an unpleasant way and left somewhere were no one would find the body.’

"But, I thought better of it and simply came forward with what I knew. I hoped that knowing would change the way he felt about you and the way you felt about him." the Headmaster stopped and looked down at his wrinkled hands, "But then, I suppose that as much as I may have hoped otherwise, I knew it would not. When he went to your chambers and did not leave till the next morning, I had no delusions as to what went on. I may be old, but I am not entirely bereft of my imagination just yet."

"I’m not happy with the situation, Severus. I’m disappointed in you and I fear for Harry. He has not had the best of childhoods, but I would have hoped he could have a normal, happy life. See to it that you provide that." He stands up and leaves and I’m still sitting the chair, staring at the now open door in shock.  
Harry’s on the other side, his eyes bloodshot, and puffy, his nose still red, but he’s looking at me expectantly. Very slowly and cautiously, I rise and walk to his side, putting an arm around his shoulder. After his earlier display, it would do little good to pretend I am anything other than familiar with him.

The Auror, Shaklebolt give me a knowing nod, and I don’t need to wonder what he thinks he knows. I’m taking my son home. Harry is quiet in the elevator and I think about everything I’ve just lost. Dumbledore’s respect, my position as spy. There can be no going back from this, the entire Ministry saw the child clinging to me. But I think that perhaps I’ve gained just as much, at least for now.

Harry’s silent until we are back in my home. Our home. He looks at the floor and then suddenly looks up at me with large, pleadings eyes. "I... It was you or him, Severus. Is it wrong to be glad that it wasn’t you?"

There are tears forming in his eyes again and I give in yet again, pulling him into my arms and holding him to me. I’m not good with words and even if I were, I don’t know what I would say, so I try and convey with the strength of my hold on him that I am just as glad as him that it wasn’t me.

I can’t imagine how the war will be won without a spy, or how we’ll manage to keep everything a secret when he’s such an open book, but that hardly matters at the moment. No, what matters now is that I do what Albus has instructed me to. Keep the boy happy.

The clock above the fireplace strikes one a.m.

"Let’s go to bed, Harry."


End file.
